


Youth Knows No Pain

by chemicalburnfromthespiralperm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Curtain Fic, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-11 07:50:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7882837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemicalburnfromthespiralperm/pseuds/chemicalburnfromthespiralperm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean settle down in small town California.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. bottom of the river

**Author's Note:**

> a look back at the lives of the winchesters when death finally hands them a way out. it starts out heavy but that's just the prologue. this is a curtain fic. i promise. more tags and characters will be added as needed. this is a chapter fic and there most likely won't be a steady plot, but just a glance into their lives as normal people.

Sam dies late December.

Dean remembers coming home from the grocery store and not much else.  Their house creeks and aches with time, settling after the cold winter.  Doesn't matter where you go.  Cold is cold and their oak house knows that.  It never snows in Sacramento but that doesn't matter.  Sam still liked to have the window open so he could watch the rain.

Dean came home from the grocery store with all of Sam's favorites.  A $195 trip, sprinkled with things they actually did need -- soap, dyer sheets, milk, eggs.  The usual.  He left his cane by the front door in favor of making less trips that way, hauling as many bags as possible.  The Rivera's boy from next door saw him struggle and offered his hands, and Dean thanked him.  Rattled off the little Spanish he knew and made Javier laugh.  They sat the groceries in no particular order by the front walkway and Dean tossed him a beer on the way out as his gratitude.  Kid was 19.  It was about time he try something.

Dean had come home with every food Sam had ever tried and loved, and he wasn't sure what drove him to this or what made him do it, but he had.  Dean had left and come home and hadn't expected anything to have changed.  Sam would still be in his bed watching Jerry Springer reruns and Dean would reprimand him for clogging up his brain with that shit while he was ill.  Same old same old.  Only this time, everything had changed.

Something in Dean knew.  He's certain he felt it the moment it happened.  He was grabbing a carton of milk from the shelf in Winco and felt it.  A snap.  A break.  As small as a twig snapping beneath someone's feet.  Dean let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.  He pressed his lips together, closed his eyes, and put the milk in his cart.

He doesn't know how he knows but he does know that soulmates, while fully human, are a kind of supernatural creature.  That one without the other is like a Yin without its Yang.  There's a bond, blood and beyond, that connects them together, and Dean's Yang just fled the scene.

He finished his grocery shopping, and then went home.

Dean can tell the second he walks through the door.  Their home feels like a house -- a human with no guts.  Empty and cold, like Death himself had personally stopped by to reap Sam himself, and let's be honest, he probably did.  Dean avoids Sam's room for about 10 minutes, he has to put all the frozen and cold shit away because he knows that if Sam comes out here and sees perishables on the floor, he'll lose his fuckin' mind and Dean doesn't have patience for that.  Everything gets put away and for some reason, Dean brings Sam a glass of water like he'll need it.  He knows.  He knew the second it happened.

The door creeks open and there's his Greek god lying in bed like he's asleep.  The TV is still on, a soap opera, and now Dean really knows Sam is dead because even before falling asleep he would have switched that garbage off.  His chest isn't rising and falling.  He doesn't look dead (he never looks dead).  He's still got long hair, mostly gray but still golden, hollow cheeks and full pink lips.

"S-Sammy?"

Dean sighs heavily.  The glass of water is set on the dresser and he finally moves into the cold room to assess the situation.  Sam is gone.  74 years old, and he's just gone.  He was getting better, he said he was getting better.  It was just a cold, no doctor necessary but now Dean is standing here and he's been silently crying for the last 30 seconds but has shown not a single emotion on his face.  Not one.

They've lived here in shithole California for too long for Dean to just throw Sam a hunter's burial.  They're normal.  Normal people with a mortgage and neighbors and people that love them.

Dean picks up the phone.

"My husband is dead."

He shuts the phone off after rattling off their address and his name, and then makes sure to grab Sam's wedding rings. He doesn't trust those people. Sam still feels warm and Dean doubts himself, and checks for a pulse. Nothing.

"You couldn't have waited until I got home."

Sam says nothing.

"Fucker."

The ambulance never arrives, but a coroner does.  Or, chaplain.  Whatever you call it.  There are people asking him questions -- where would you like us to take him, sir.  What shall we do, sir.  Sir.  I understand this is hard.

"Fuck off, son.  Just shut the fuck up.  Sunset Lawn.  Do you know where that is?  Have you heard of them?"  He's being snotty and sarcastic but he's 79 years old, damnit.  Fuck this.  Fuck everyone.  "Be careful with him!  I swear to god, you refer to him as 'the body' one more mother fuckin' time, kiddo.  I dare you."

"Sir, we're just --"

"Fuck you, too.  Get out of my house."

"Sir, Mr. Winchester, I wholly apologize. I'm sorry."

"Sure.  Just hurry up.  Sunset Lawn Chapel of the Chimes.  Fuckin' dick.  His name is Sam.  Sam Winchester.  The _body_.  Got me fucked up, thinkin' I'm old just cuz I look it.  Fuck you, buddy.  Hurry up.  You?  You're cool.  You're nice.  Get a new job, away from these fuck holes.  You can do your job right.  The rest of you can get the hell out."

He slams the door shut behind them and just stops.  There's nothing he can do.  Literally nothing.  Sam is dead and this isn't some kind of dead that he can cure.  This is old age dead.  Dead because they've been alive so fuckin' long that their god damn bodies just gave out.

Dean's not okay.  He will literally never be okay again.  He was supposed to go first. Sam was supposed to do all of this first, and fuck him if that's selfish but god damn.  This wasn't supposed to happen this way. When they moved in a hundred years ago, it wasn't supposed to end like this.  They were supposed to die on the job, together, a hundred years ago before they bought this house.

He remembers every fucking moment here, even well into his 70's.  He's almost 80.  His birthday is in like, six weeks.  It was Christmas soon.  And Sam is dead.  What's he gonna do with the presents?  Who's gonna bitch about where Dean puts the tree this year?  Who's gonna pick at the turkey before it's fuckin' finished and get salmonella? Who's gonna arrange and rearrange Dean's tree decorating every fucking day until Christmas Eve?  Who's gonna insist on cooking and nearly burn the god damn house down because he can't?  Who's gonna insist on watching that stupid fucking 24 hour Christmas Story marathon?

What is Dean supposed to do all by himself?  Keep living?  He's too old.  Too old for life.  Too old for anything else.  There's no one else.

He picks up the phone and calls someone else.

"Maryanne?  It's dad.  How are you?  I'm... I'm sorry, little girl.  You gotta come to California.  It's your daddy.  I'm... fuck, babe.  He's-he's dead.  He died.  About two hours ago.  It happened in his sleep, I wasn't even here.  I was fucking grocery shopping.  I took too long because I wanted to get Sam his favorite donuts and they were in the process of putting them out so I waited.  I fucking waited instead of coming home.  I could have been here and I wasn't, Maryanne."

She's scrambling on the other line.  She can't believe it either.  She says she'll call her brother, but Jess can't find out that way.

Jesse cries.  He actually cries and it breaks Dean's heart.  He can hear Jesse's wife in the background asking him what happened, but he's crying too hard.  It'll be okay, Dean says.

No, it won't be.

They both ask him when the funeral is.  He tells them there won't be one.  Sam's getting cremated as per his wishes.  They argue for a funeral but Dean isn't having it.  He tells them to hurry, if they can.  He can't be alone, otherwise they'll lose both parents.

When Dean hangs up the phone he grabs his cane and heads out the door to let the neighbors know.  They probably saw all the commotion, probably heard all of Dean's yelling (which, honestly, they're used to by now) and probably want to know what happened.

Everyone cries.  Dean can't cry anymore.  If he does he'll never stop.  He thinks some of them are wondering why he's not upset, but he assures them, if he were to get upset he'd die right here in front of them and he knows Sam wouldn't want that.  No getting him back, no making a deal.  Nothing.  Dean's too old for that shit anyone.

This just has to hurt.

Sam dies late December and Dean's heart is still beating, but he's dead, too.

Sam and Dean have owned this house for God knows how long.  He calls a real estate agent and demands it be put up on the market that day.  He calls a few children of hunters they knew in day's passed and ask them if any of them need to buy a car -- '67 Impala in perfect, pristine hunting conditions with all the fixin's that come with it.  Sam is gone.  He doesn't need that thing anymore.


	2. civillian

Sacramento.  Mother fucking shit hole Sacramento, California in the god damned mother fucking San Fernando Valley.

"The San Fernando Valley is actually Southern California, like LA.  This is the Sacramento Valley."

"Shut the fuck up, Sam."

He's greeted with a major bitchface that Dean's not sure how he's gonna make up for later, but regardless of that, they're in Sacramento.  It's sort of fitting to end where everything started, but still.  There were so many other places in California they could have lived.  Hell, anywhere in the United States, honestly.  Why couldn't they stay in the bunker?

"The bunker isn't a home, Dean.  If we stay in that place, we'll never get out."

Okay, why couldn't they have stayed in Lebanon?

"Lebanon was too central of a hub.  Too on the grid.  We talked about this."

Dean huffs.

He let Sam drive for once.  They're in some shitty neighborhood called Carmichael.  All of the houses look way too fuckin' fancy for them, too expensive for them and too good for them.  He shakes his head.  Doesn't feel right.  Sam seems to agree with him, albeit silently, because he sighs heavily and turns left  and now they're on a huge street that houses too many strip malls.  Dean feels like he's never seen more strip malls in his life.  Everything over here seems too done up for two guys that don't deserve more than a paper sack.  Sacramento is pretty, he guesses, with all of it's trees and watercolor canopies.  They tried downtown and within ten seconds of being off the 160 they decided city livin' wasn't for them, so back on the 160 to 80 east and they headed back whence they came.

Now, they're not driving around aimlessly.  This is Sam Winchester we're talking about.  He's been rolling off facts about this place since they started the drive from Kansas.  Did you know Sacramento is the city of trees -- for every one person, there is 20 trees, meaning there are over a million trees in Sacramento.  Did you know that Sacramento is the luxury coffee capital of the United States.  There are more coffee houses per capita than anywhere else in the US.  Not even Seattle comes close.  Did you know that Sacramento is also the city of almonds, or that once a year they hold a trash film orgy, or that the Pony Express originated in Sacramento.  Sacramento is only 17 feet above sea level.

Sam could go on.  Trust him, he did.

They pull into a little restaurant called Rey Azteca and Dean's already salivating.  He'll tell people they picked Sacramento for no other reason than the Mexican food.

This is the tiniest Mexican restaurant Dean has literally ever seen.  Seriously.  Sam has to duck to get inside and once he's inside, he can't stand up straight.  Genuinely cannot stand up straight.  Dean himself feels a little cramped, but he feels worse for Sammy.  They aren't young anymore.  His joints are gonna be hurting him later.

"Two please.  Thanks, amigo."

Their waiter gives Dean a grimace but leads them to a back corner table anyway.  They are the only white people here, but Dean doesn't notice.  He asks for chips and salsa and he's instructed that there's a free salsa bar in the opposite corner, they can help themselves.  Sam orders them each a beer and Dean gets up to get their fixin's before they order.

"You okay, Sammy?"

Sam shakes his head, but doesn't respond.  He's nursing his beer - ice cold - and won't talk to Dean and he thinks about getting angry, but it's not worth it.  Not here.  Or at all, actually.  Dean feels the same way.  He promises.  It wasn't supposed to end like this.  They weren't just supposed to drive away from a place that was their homes, leave all their friends behind, and just pretend like they don't exist anymore.  Sam's face says it all.

"Man, I'm ready for some food.  What are you gonna get?  Want me to order for you?  You have to try the salsa, dude.  I'm honestly just fine eatin' this shit and then getting back on the road.  It's fuckin' awesome."

Sam cracks a smile behind the neck of his bottle.

"I'm... Did you ever -"

"No.  Not now.  Not here.  We haven't even found a place to live yet, Sam.  Tell me about another town.  Somewhere else we can look.  You have a whole bunch of listings and we've only been through two towns.  Wasn't there a house with a giant yard?  Like, huge? Lots of trees?"

"Ya, in some place called North Highlands."  The subject change seems to do the trick as Sam reaches for the bundle of papers inside his rucksack.  "It's like, right in the center of everything."  Nimble fingers flip through an alphabetized list of papers until he finds it.  The one.  "A 15 minute drive to anywhere else in town.  Good schools, lots of places to shop, quiet.  4758 Turner Drive.  Rent, rent to own or buy.  Rent is 1300 a month.  Three bedrooms, one and a half bathrooms, kitchen, dining room, living room, garage, backyard. One story."

"Good.  We're too old for that."

"Dean, you're 40."

"Too old."

Sam just rolls his eyes and shuffles through the rest of the listing.  It doesn't seem like it's a bad place to be.  It's not too big, but it's big enough for both of them with an extra bedroom.  Dean never thought about owning a house but apartments were too personal.

A house will do.

Sam orders the fajitas and Dean gets the smothered burrito.  Sam might think 40 is young but god damnit his intestines think he's 70.  Dean gets to know the bathroom in Rey Azteca pretty well before they're on the road to no where North Highlands.

There are several main streets in Sacramento, and this little house is right off one of those.  It seems like a quiet neighborhood, no children outside playing but it is starting to dusk up, the sun hanging low and heavy in the sky, painting their surroundings with that pregnant promise that fall is coming, wide brush strokes of ambrosia across the horizon.  Pinks and oranges peak from behind beautiful trees and Dean takes a deep breath.  Someone's mowing their lawn down the street and Dean can smell the grass.  This place seems perfect.

Sam had called the Realtor just before they left the restaurant and they were lucky that she happened to be in the neighborhood at the time.  She could meet them at the house.

"Ah, gentlemen.  Welcome to Sacramento!  Where are you moving from?"

Sam is quick to answer with Kansas, a big ol' grin on his face like they really are two newlyweds moving from one place to the next for work or business or something suitably stupid like that.  Bright, young and happy like they hadn't spent their entire lives running from Death.

"Kansas?  That's quite the journey!  Definitely a different atmosphere, right?"

"We hate tornadoes."

Dean's deadpan causes her to stop in her tracks a little bit, but she plows on through.

"My name is Karen, and I'm the estate agent for this home.  If you're looking for a real estate agent to help you on your journey in Sacramento, I'd be happy to help you!  You are free to look around.  I always like to let my clients explore before I step in.  So, help yourself. Mr. and Mr...?"

"Winchester."

"Mr. Winchester. Right this way."

She grins at them and leads them up the sweeping walkway.  There's a little white picket fence around the yard, tall enough to keep dogs in, and the grass is almost too green for a California drought.  Dean can tell that Sam is already in love.

The house was longer than it was wide with a sweeping front yard and a huge tree right out front.  White with a pretty blue trim and shutters on the side of every window.  One car garage, blue door and a cute little garden right in front of the front patio.  Dean was already dreaming of the things they could plant there.

When Karen opens the door, Dean hears Sam gasp, and once Dean sees why he follows suit.

It's not a big house, but it's open concept.  The entire floor plan is open.  The foyer leads to the kitchen, leading into the dining room leading into the living room leading to a hallway.  You could see the whole house minus the bedrooms from the front door.  There were French doors pouring dissipating sunlight onto the pale hardwood and the room itself.  You could see the dust particles floating and Dean almost didn't want to disturb them.

"Three bedrooms, one bathroom, laundry room, a full chef's kitchen.  This house is newly remodeled in the neighborhood which is why it's on the pricier side but you can see why.  The way the sun pours into the room is breathtaking.  The floors are brand new, real refurbished hardwood throughout the whole house.  The kitchen floor is polished cement -- very modern.  Quartz countertops with the country sink, gas stove with the grill in the middle, and a sink in the island as well.  The bathroom had a full remodel with tile flooring and stone in the shower itself. You'll love it."

Somewhere in Karen's speech, Dean's hand made its way into Sam's.

"Each bedroom has a walk in closet, and the master has a huge window that looks out into back yard.  Do you gentlemen have any questions?"

Winsync at its finest, both boys respond, "Where do we sign?"


	3. glory and gore

It's weird...

If either of them had a real taste for a normal life, it was Dean.  He had the mom and the dad and the crusts cut of his sandwiches and the I Wuv Hugs shirt and the whole nine and yet, they stand in the spice aisle of a Winco and Dean doesn't know what to do.  Sam looks like an old pro.  Maybe all those years with Jess did teach him what to do.  Their cart is full of the things normal people have in their kitchen, things theirs is bare of in this moment.  The only thing in their new house is toilet paper and two air mattresses. They don't even have a fridge.  With first and last month's rent, a deposit, and all the stuff they're going to have to buy, they're gonna be seriously hurting for a while.  That house is empty.  Sam made a list their first night in the house of things normal people have, things they don't have beyond their duffel bags.

Do they have to be normal or can they just be them?

Toilet paper and hand soap and towels and toothbrushes and toothpaste and shampoo and conditioner and body wash and knives and forks and jesus christ there is so much Dean just doesn't know.  Most of this shit was just in the bunker.  Yeah, Dean's bought toothpaste before but... a toothbrush holder?  A soap dish?

He really doesn't want to have a William James episode right in the middle of the grocery store.

Cinnamon, parsley, basil -

"Whoa, don't grab that dried crap.  I'm turning that little patch in front of the house into an herb garden.  That's first on my list."

"Don't tell your knee that," Sam says under his breath, pointedly putting the nasty dried parsley into the cart, along with several other herbs that are absolutely going to be in that garden when Dean starts planting!

"Sammy, what the hell!  Dick!"  Dean whacks him in the back of the head and Sammy's a lot quicker on his feet than Dean ever remembers, and comes back with sharp, bony finger to Dean's side.  He yelps and for the first time in Dean doesn't even know how long, Sam laughs, bright and open with his head thrown back

"Little fucker!  Don't touch me!"

"I didn't touch you!  Besides, you started it! Don't touch my hair!"

"Aww, but Sammy, that's my favorite part."

"Fuck off."

Sam throws an extra thing of bay leaves in the cart just to spite Dean.

"How do you know what to get?"

Sam's hand lingers on a small bag of sugar and Dean's pretty sure Sam's entire life is flashing before his eyes before he takes a deep breath and finally puts it in the cart.

"Jess.  We moved in with each other within six months.  We'd had that apartment for two years."  It's in that moment that Dean realizes he doesn't really know that much about Sam and Jess.  "I'd never had anything like that before.  I mean, I had my dorm but my roommate usually let me use all his stuff, and a lot of stuff was in the bookstore for cheap so I never really had to buy things.  I also had meal plan.  When I moved in with Jess, she taught me everything.  She just chalked it up to me being a stupid guy who'd had mommy and daddy do everything for him.  She thought it was cute."

Dean's expression is pinched.

He's in love with his brother and he probably always has been, because no one has ever told Sam no.  He gets whatever he wants and he always has.  He doesn't know how to cook because he's never had to.  He doesn't know how to do laundry because everyone does it for him because no one ever taught him.  Sam can't change a damn tire and Dean's lucky that he at least knows how to put gas in the Impala.  Take care of Sammy somehow translated into do everything for Sammy because he can't do it for himself because no one ever taught him because everyone was always trying to take care of Sammy.  Dean's in love with Sam because Sam always gets what he wants and Dean would do anything for him without a second thought.  Dean would rip his heart out and offer it to Sam on a silver platter and Sam could not even give him a second glance because he just expects it.

And there ain't a damn thing wrong with that.

"It's okay."

"What is?"

Dean shrugs, moving into Sam's space to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"That you still love her.  It's okay.  Don't get that sugar -- that Steevia shit is bad for you.  Did you know they replace the sugar part with chlorine and they don't know what it does to you? Just get real sugar."

They're at the checkout with $300 worth of shit in two carts.  It's all stuff they need.  There's no perishables because they don't have a fridge yet, just dry stuff and pantry stuff and snack stuff and the kind of stuff Dean guesses you'd find underneath the sink or in the closet.  Stuff for a bathroom and stuff for a closet and stuff for stuff Dean didn't even know you'd need stuff for and Sammy just piles it all on the conveyor belt with that million dollar smile like they haven't just uprooted their entire lives.  The cashier comments on all the odds and ends and Sammy mentions that it's their first house, they need all the stuff, and she asks how long they've been married.

"Oh, that's my brother," Sam says as he loads a case of water bottles onto the belt.  "We just moved in from Kansas."

Sam doesn't notice the weird look she gives him because Sam is so fuckin' pure of heart he's never the first to notice a person's shitty intentions.  It makes Dean's heart ache just a bit.

"Okay, lady, can we just get the show on the road?  We gotta get to a Walmart or something.  Do you know where they sell appliances?"

She didn't know where they sold appliances.

Dean's head spins because for once, he's seeing actual groceries in the back of the Impala, and not just salt and shotguns.  Sam's happy because there was a Starbucks in the parking lot and now he's smiling with his lips sealed around the green straw of whatever venti mocha choca bullshit that he loves, and Dean's heart aches a little bit more.

"Okay, so, get this: Siri says that if we turn right out of the parking lot on this side, if we keep going, we'll hit a Walmart, and that same Walmart is, apparently, literally, down the street from our house."

"Perfect.  They don't sell Frigidaires at Walmart, though, Sammy."

"No," he says with a shrug, shoving Siri back into the depths of his breast pocket, "but they sell other stuff like desks and furniture.  Electronics.  Maybe get you a nice TV you can set up in the living room."

"Ah, yes, to watch the cable we don't have.  What are you gonna do without wifi, Sam?"

He can hear Sam's eye roll without even needing to look at him.

Dean doesn't know where they got all this money, but they come home with a fancy coffee maker, bookshelves, desks, things they might return once they find they have no room for it, towels, trash cans, laundry baskets, washrags... So much shit goes into owning a home that Dean's already tired one they get inside and unload the car.  Stuff just gets shoved into places that don't really make sense, but Dean collapses in the middle of the dining room on the floor anyway and lets the air conditioning wash over him.

There's no stucco on the ceiling so Dean's stuck making pictures out of the weird finish up there.  All the walls in here are white, but Dean can see brilliant shades of deep blue sweeping through here, and the sunlight painting a brilliant water color picture of a life they could have if they just did this right.  He doesn't want to think about Death and what this has cost them...  It's not worth it.

Sam follows a few moments later, just out of Dean's reach.

"Can we do this?"

Sam's voice is pensive and Dean knows exactly what look Sam has on his face without even seeing it.

"What, fake an entire life?  Pretend to be normal?  What is normal, Sam?  What's normal for us?  Faking normal?  Pretend normal?  I don't know."

Sam's hand makes little squeaking noises as it moves across the floor to meet with Dean's, their pinkies touching in feather light freedom.  Not too much but not really enough.

"Passenger seat, dinner table, PTA meeting.  Does it matter?  As long as I'm next to you.  That's what we've always said.  Doesn't matter what comes at us as long as I'm beside you, so let's not try for whatever we _think_ normal is.  You're my brother, and I'm gonna forge a degree from somewhere and I'm gonna get a job at the college and you're gonna get a job at the mechanic down the street and we're gonna be real people.  Together.  It doesn't matter what else happens outside of that."

The sun shines on Sam from the French doors in such a way that convinces Dean to fall even further in love with Sam.


	4. breath of life

So, nothing gold can stay which is what S.E. Hinton taught him sophomore year of high school and that much is true when everything comes crashing down.  This house doesn't feel like a home yet even though every time they go through a girly section of a store their cart mysteriously adds one hundred dollars worth to its sum, and Dean can't imagine it feeling any more empty than it does in this moment.  There's nothing in that master bedroom yet besides shit they don't know where to put, and the house is laid out in such a way that each smaller bedroom is a mirror of itself and they face each other on opposite sides of the hall, so Dean knows that Sam is literally just beyond this wall and can maybe even hear him gasping for his life in this tiny, suffocating bedroom.

It has ugly green walls and white trim and smells like baby powder.

Dean's chest is constricting as memories of a nightmare flash a thousand times on the periphery.  His cell phone flashes next to him on the ground beside the air mattress, a spiteful "2:43am, 48% charged."

His hair is standing on end.  They don't hunt anymore and there are no monsters to hunt in mother fucking shit hole Sacramento county but that doesn't stop Dean's mind from reeling.  Every nightmare he has of Sam dying is so fucking real, he can't help but take it for what it's worth -- my brother is dead.  The mattress makes ugly, squishy noises as Dean rolls off of it and onto the floor.  His bones crack and creak and he's grateful for the noise other than the neighborhood billowing in from the open window.  Someone opens and shuts their trashcan, a cat meows, a car drives by and Dean's osteoporosis acts up as he goes to stand.  Feels a hundred fuckin' years old and he's not even 40 yet.  Christ.

Sam's door is wide open, computer screen still backlit which tells Dean that not only did Sam lie about going to sleep, he'd fallen asleep on accident, hand still poised on the keyboard.  The fuckin' top secret Stanford grade database sits there, wide open on his screen.  Sam was obviously searching for his grades and his permanent record and Dean makes a note to ask him why they even bothered to use their real names.  They're technically dead.  What's dead should stay dead, especially the Winchesters.

"Sammy?"  His voice is a harsh whisper, and all Sam does is groan at him.  "Sammy, wake up.  Come on, little brother."

"Dean?"

"Ya, 's me."  He's still whispering, like if he chose to speak full volume it'd disturb the ambiance.  "Come on, bro, you gotta turn this thing off.  It can wait until tomorrow."

Sam groans again like the obnoxious little kid he used to be that makes Dean's heart hurt in a way he doesn't understand, and Sam stretches on his air mattress like a cat, back arched and a low groan coming from his throat.  Right.  How dare Dean make sure his idiot little brother doesn't wake up with a back ache.

"Don't gimme your poop face, Sam.  You're the dummy that fell asleep doing illegals."

"Time is it?"

"Like, three o'clock.  Don't look at me."

"Why're you up?"

Good question.

"Three AM is my favorite time to contemplate the meaning of life.  Shut up, close your computer and go to sleep for real.  Don't make me come back in here."

He hears a groan again as he leaves room, but he shuts the door behind him.  Maybe three AM is his favorite time to contemplate the meaning of life.  Either way, he's too frazzled to go back to sleep.  It wasn't the glow of Sam's computer that made him go in there, it was the need to just make sure Sam was still alive.  He'd tell Sam straight up if he asked him.  There's something maternal in Dean that fights him on his decisions of what's rational.  He almost never wins.

The kitchen is cold and the living room is bare.  There's a couch and a kitchen table and some other odds and ends now, thanks to Craigslist and the very common North Highlands garage sale thing that happens literally every single day of the week.  Dean likes to go scrounging.  He found their dishes at one.  Sam found the furniture set on Craigslist.  Why would you ever buy anything brand new when some sap on the internet is selling it for $50 and they'll deliver it for a burrito!

He flips on some lights and takes a moment to remember every TV show he's ever seen where people were moving into a house.  Boxes of shit were usually everywhere.  Sam and Dean had two duffel bags, and everything they owned fit into both of them.

They won't ever be normal.  It's impossible.

The first box Dean unpacks is the new dishware they bought. Dean had asked Sam twice why they were buying an entire set when they could have just gone to the goodwill and bought two of everything. Problem solved. They lived alone. Who else would they be feeding? But, Dean's a good brother so he picks a cabinet and starts unpacking. Plates on one side, bowls on the other. Second shelf is glasses, third shelf is alcohol specific glasses. Technically you can put alcohol in anything, but they found fancy whiskey tumblers at a yard sale and some shot glasses. All important.

Next is the silverware, cutlery, utensils and various odds and ends that get stuffed into drawers and put where ever it'll fit.

This kitchen is... beautiful. Dean can't wait to start cooking for real in here. The realtor wasn't wrong when she said this was a newly remodeled chef's kitchen. It's stunning, modern yet homey, like a plantation house's kitchen with a huge country sink and a giant grill in the middle of the stove. All new appliances that match their fancy ass refrigerator. This is too good for them, but Dean likes being in here and pretending he's normal.

Most of this stuff was bought with stolen money but the house didn't need to know that. Once they finished their last big purchase of the washer/dryer they cut up each credit card. They were doing this for real. A real life, with real cash. They were gonna do taxes for once in their lives.

Dean unpacks this stuff because it's real. He sets his hands on the boxes and feels the cardboard beneath his hands and he knows he's real, and that this life, despite all viable evidence for the opposite, is real.

He googled it once. Disassociation. He'd never tell Sam about it because it isn't a big deal. It happens and Dean realizes it and then it goes away. Touching things and making his hands work for him tends to help. That nightmare could've knocked him on his ass, but Dean chose to not drift away instead. Progress, right? Maybe Dean will get a real job with real benefits and a real doctor can help if it ever gets that bad.

If it ever gets that bad.

Dean doesn't know when it goes from dark to light, but Sam comes stumbling out of his bedroom and indeterminate amount of time later.

"Dean? Dean, it's 5:30, why are you up so early?"

It takes Dean a second to respond. Sam is talking to him. Sam is wearing his workout clothes. He was going for his morning run.

"I'm... I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd unpack."

Sam doesn't seem to buy it, frowns in that Sam way that he does, epic bitchface number 12, whatever. He moves further into the kitchen and puts his hands on Dean's. Sam is real and this moment is real.

"Hey, what happened last night? Are you sure you're okay? Do you want to go running with me?"

Sam looks so concerned and so soft and so calm that Dean's almost reeling. This is his brother, face covered with concern and hope and love and light. Dean's baby brother, who means so much to Dean he can't think about it or he'll literally die beneath the weight of it. Sam Winchester, who looks like he was made from sunlight.

God damnit, Dean's so gone.

"I'm... I'm okay. I just - I had a dream last night and it freaked me out, so I thought I'd put my lazy ass to work and at least get started on unloading all this shit, you know? It's not gonna get done unless we do it, right?"

Sam just nods and gives Dean a smile, hands still resting lightly on his brother's.

"Okay. If you feel like loading all the boxes of books we took from the bunker into the master bedroom I'll start unpacking those when I get back Maybe start a cup of coffee. Ya?"

"Ya. Be safe. Keep your phone on."

"Don't talk to strangers. I get it. See you. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

Sam is so freaking genuine.

The door slams behind him and Dean doesn't want to tell this story anymore. His body, this useless corpse with a brain inside of it that's all mush and all wrong, and all backwards with parts on upside down or sideways. Dean doesn't want to tell this story anymore. Sam loves Dean in a way that he doesn't understand. They're different people, raised different ways. Sam's entire life has been handed to him on a bloody silver platter. They cut themselves open and leave themselves bleeding and raw just to see that kid smile, so he expects it. He's spoiled. Spoiled fuckin' rotten even though they were changing schools every ten seconds. Sam got a full ride to one of the most prestigious schools in the country. Spoiled. Dean's spoiled boy. Dean's kid, who leaves Dean breathless and angry and blue in the face but he's Dean's kid. Dean's brother.

The "soulmates" thing. Dean's okay with it. How could it be any other way? How many times has Dean killed himself to beg a reaper to bring Sam back? How many times has Dean flayed himself open to make Sam happen? He's been in love with that kid ever since he was born. It makes the most sense. It drives Dean crazy.

How do you prove your love to someone who sees slitting your wrists open for them as just a kind gesture?

Sam would do it for him, too. Sam has done it for him, too. Little bastard. Stubborn asshole with too many curves and edges that all fit perfectly into Dean.

Maybe one day Dean will be able to tell him this.

Maybe one day they'll be okay.

Dean doesn't want to tell this story anymore.


End file.
